MU Chronicles
by A.Askal
Summary: This is a series of journal entries regarding my adventures with MU, based from arbitrary experiences from the last 6 months of gameplay. I integrated my experiences with the characters my friends' characters in the game, which we dutifully played for 6 m


MU Chronicles - Introduction

This is a series of journal entries regarding my adventures with MU, based from arbitrary experiences from the last 6 months of gameplay. I integrated my experiences with the characters (my friends' characters in the game, which we dutifully played for 6 months) of: ghst (dark knight), m()ri (dark wizard), Cadsuane (elf) and Carabas (dark knight) and turned them into a single POV. (References: Master of Five Magics by Lyndon Hardy, MU Online Continental Legend by Webzen, LOTR by J.R.R Tolkien, and Wheel of Time by Robert Jordan)

Prologue.

My friends and I have just passed the Trials of Blood, and now we start our journey bearing the talents of old in a lifequest as old as the original sin: the final destruction of Kundun. Bidding my family good bye, I chose to train under the blade-school of Haman, the Lightbringer, and passed as a Swordsman of A'Nai. Not exactly a master of worth, but enough skill was passed to make a curious brigand think twice before raising a sword against me.

During my years of apprenticeship I met good friends, fellow swordsmen (and a swordswoman): Trudis of the Foregate Settlements, Y'man of the Higher Lorencian Mountains, and Wendigo, an amazon from the Davian Hill Tribes. I also met other friends from different crafts: Ramone, an acolyte practicing thaumaturgy under the Archimage of Oranai, and Wolfist, a 400 year-old pathfinder - young by Elven standards and hailing from the Elvish tribes east of Lorencia.

Together, we forged a pact to unite in battle against the bane of all that is good.

The City of Lorencia has heard of a massive undead army gathering at the northern borders, and has called upon men of all crafts to join the free armies. Under the banner of the Yellow Bees and led by Lord Robert Dabruce Ituralde, the different guildmasters led the signatories, and our party was one of the willing citizens who volunteered for the defense of the isolated city. The collapse of leadership across the Mu continent has led to the decay of most metropolitan trading centers, once the bastions of the greatest civilizations ever to evolve in history. Thus, no ally is within hopeful reach. Even then the White City of Lorencia has been more fortunate than most, and though it is but a shadow of its former self, the city is considered as the only center of civilization in the midwest. Unfortunately, it is bordered by forsaken lands, lands corrupted by a terrarian disease brought about by the unholy armies of Kundun...

It is from one of these forsaken lands - the Dungeon Cities of Minas Arhol - that a Balrog Overlord organized another Campaign of Attrition, the twelfth of its kind. It is from this campaign that I began the journey with my friends. I had not known murder and death 'til then...

MU Chronicles: Day One; First Bell, First Chime. Naebelisian Streams, South of Lorencia City

Three weeks have passed since the Conclave of Lorencia called for mobilization, and I find myself staring at the bowl of porridge I was holding in my hands. We are camped beside a small stream. A palisade surrounds our camp; had this been thought of earlier, everyone from the full two-thousand men attached to the Felix Legions who started this mission would have been alive within the walls. Ahh.. last night had been bloody and chaotic. Budge dragons kept on attacking the walls, and our arbalests barely kept up with the assault. The pikemen were steadfast but sufferred losses still. It was a good thing that a squadron of newly-recruited Elven archers was with us then, else even our hardened veterans would never have kept up with the fiery siege. Yes, even such lowly creatures have proven difficult to deal with even for a legion-size army like us; it betrayed how degraded the military arts and military technology has become with the fall of the Empire and the decline of the West.

I was just finishing breakfast with Y'man and Wolfist. I wonder where the rest of my friends are...

The fighting in the north has been dead-calm for three days, if the pigeons are to be believed. It seems the Balrog has found a match with our brave lord, but that is only wishful thinking. Brave or not, our leader lacks enough men to fight on his side. We are outnumbered - the entire army of Lorencia - three-to-one. And that is not mentioning the foul beasts kept by the enemy as creatures of war; against our mightiest unirias, we are still no match.

We need to find the the Tower of Ilas, which holds guard the engineering papers of Beduine, the greatest thaumaturge ever to walk the continent who died about a millenia ago. Within these scrolls lie the secret technologies of war used by the legendary Legions of the Dragon and the Ever Victorious Army of the Empire. 

We lost two-hundred and thirty men last night, including our only master thaumaturge - and the only one left is a silly friend who spends more time chasing weavers' wives. Ramone should have his cold ass out of bed by now and training in his craft if we are to have any hope at all of using the scrolls; besides, we need his mediocre skills in healing...it won't hurt a bit if he tries to IMPROVE on that, no sir!. It was funny how Trudis cried murder when Ramone settled his broken leg last night...we had a hearty laugh at that. Then the screaming of the burn-victims reached ours ears. I stopped laughing. I think everyone else did too.

We're not even close to our goal. Two more mountains to cross. A great river. A valley of fire and death.

I did not eat the rest of the porridge. I lost my appetite. 

MU Chronicles: Day One; First Bell, Third Chime. Naebelisian Streams, South of Lorencia City

The scouts sent by our general returned from a recon sortie. The rangers, trained by Elven pathfinders, are too often met by disdain by the regular troops. I guess being one of the elite these guys are subject to envy. Wolfist has been spending more time with them the past few days, and I can see from here that he is right now conferring with one of them. Hmm, the first-lieutenant seems to be debriefing the scoutmaster. They sound serious. Trouble I think.

Damn, I need to practice my swordsmanship. Second-Lieutenant Fukhburst has been teaching me a new skill, some upper-cut technique he learned from Artic Rose knights he fought with during the Tenth Campaign of Attrition. Where are Trudis and Wendigo anyway?

Ok, I think maybe I'll put some thought on what that Elven lady told me a couple of days ago, in one of the towns we passed before we got here. "Thy path shall fork, whether be thee of the Blade or the Staff, but a Sea shall be on the horizon". What in the bloody name is that supposed to mean! I may have to discuss this with Ramone. He's the one who likes to deal with magic. Not me. No sir!

Dammit. I have to go to the blacksmith I think. My gladius and my falchion need repairs. And my buckler too, I think. Come to think of it, my leather armor needs patching up; blood and ashes, how is leather supposed to stop a Larkan axe from chopping me to bloody smithereens? Blood and bloody ashes I say!

Wait! What's happening? The horn sound for striking camp was sounded. Later.

MU Chronicles: Day One; First Bell, Third Chime. Naebelisian Streams, South of Lorencia City

Bloody knights almost trampled me to death! I heard the cavalry commander throw another bloody comment about the foot. These fools don't know how many times the pikes and the crossbows have saved their bloody pompous hides! Hairy fools! Phew! What's that? I seem to hear drumbeats from afar. Ok, here we go - the sergeant gave orders to deploy. I'll be keeping in this journal for now. May water and shade be with us tomorrow...

MU Chronicles: Day One; First Bell, Fourth Chime. Naebelisian Streams, South of Lorencia City

Our squadron leader told us that a large patrol of Lorencian bull fighters and their Caanite trainers track the upper streams to the north west, about two clicks from where the camp is sited. They are obviously outmatched in numbers compared to us, but last night's assault got everyone's nerves going; we've just lost a good number of men, and no one is too eager to see another battle. The men are weary. Everyone.

Captain Remule was holding mission orders and reading them. When he finished, he looked up from the scrolls and addressed the Ghost Squadron IX-VV from where I, together with my friends, belong. There are two hundred men attached to this squad, and more than half have yet to grow beards or see eighteen winters. The rest are older men - and women - though they are not veterans of war.

It seems that our squad was assigned to intercept the enemy patrol before they make contact with our marching army; as added protection two full squadrons were told to guard the rear but with no orders to give aid to us if we need it. Nice.

The battle plan is simple: around fifty men will attack headlong into the approaching patrol, with the intention of attracting them to going after the first wave while they make a "hasty and confused" retreat back to the ridge we set up earlier for an agressive pike-bow defense. Now while this line holds back the pursuers, another group will attack the right flank of the enemy, thus pinning them to the boggy side of the valley towards the edges of the swampy forests. Another group, this time about thirty-four horsebows and lances will strike the enemy at its backside, thus completing their annihilation.

Ofcourse it's not as easy as it sounded.

Elite Bull fighters, and their lesser brothers, the Lorencian bulls, are berserkers. They are primarily used as detonation devices - literally. During the Fifth Campaign of Attrition, military historians wrote that throngs of these blood-thirsty creatures were catapulted by the Draconian armies into the middle of an approaching army, swathing large groups of men with their large battle axes into mutilated bodies as they touch the ground. Their Caanite trainers are no less as fierced; inhabitants of the Frost Mountains in Davias, these giants are immune to all kinds of poison. They wield Davian maces and wear bronze-gilded armor forged by rogue elven smiths serving Sitis, the melevolent Ice Queen. But the Caanites are known more for their brute strength; their weakness is their intelligence. Most probably they will take the bait and pursue our "retreating" forces. That will be the end. My logical mind says so - but my ambivalent heart is weary about it.

Orders were issued; I will be part of the suicidal first wave. There goes Ramone with the crossbows; obviously he will be using lodestones again as tracers for the artillery. Y'man and Trudis are with the unirian cavalry, while Wendigo and Wolfist join me on the first strike. I have not been able to have any of my equipment repaired, and I am quite anxious with the state of my buckler. It has no chance at all against three-hundred pounds of solid iron from the maces wielded by the frost giants.

My group is now being called into attack position. Twelve hundred paces before enemy contact, I feel a little nervous.

Later...if there is.


End file.
